He concentrated only on the steps. And on the woman in his arms.

This dance was more than slightly risqué in the eyes of society, he knew—and to perform it with an unmarried virgin of Lily’s class was nothing short of scandalous.

He wanted to kiss her. In fact he could not remember ever wanting anything so clearly, so intensely, as he wanted this now.

He wanted to forget the vow he had made to protect her. He wanted to take her up to his room, pull the emeralds from their leather case, put them around her smooth white neck and undress her so she was wearing nothing else.

He wanted to lose himself in her. To forget what he was and be with her what he might have been had he never gone to war.

For a moment he stood, mouth inches from hers, and they swayed together as if dancing still, pulled in towards one another, her gaze locked with his. All he could hear was her breathing, somehow soft and harsh all at the same time, threaded raggedly within and around his, in time with the pulse that throbbed faintly, sensuously, in the hollow at the base of her throat.

Daniel took his hands off her before he did something he knew they would both regret…

Author Note

It’s been a while since my last book, but I knew that I was not yet ready to say goodbye to the Westhaven family—so I was excited at the chance to revisit Oakridge.

A generation has passed since a highwayman met his match in THE ROGUE’S KISS, and now it is his son, Daniel, who lives alone within Oakridge’s imposing walls, recently returned from war with his life and hopes for the future in pieces. This is his story, and that of Liliana, the woman he is honour-bound to protect—whether she likes it or not!

I hope you take as much pleasure in reading MAJOR WESTHAVEN’S UNWILLING WARD as I did in writing it!

Do e-mail me at emilybascom@live.co.uk—or come and visit me on Facebook—to let me know what you think!

Major Westhaven’s Unwilling Ward
Emily Bascom

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Emily Bascom lives in London with her boyfriend, a sunflower, and a dog named Giles. She has a degree in English and Drama from Royal Holloway University, London. In her quest to find a real job she has been a milk(wo)man, a charity fundraiser and a station assistant on the London Underground—all of which she loved. She craves olives, hates cricket, and dreams of retiring to Uganda.

A previous novel by Emily Bascom:

THE ROGUE’S KISS

To Errol, who picked himself up and learned to walk again. I will love you all my life.

Prologue

South Carolina, America—April 1781

Major Daniel Westhaven knew he was dying from the moment he opened his eyes.

He was lying on muddy grass, still on the battlefield, the air around him filled with smoke, the stench of burning flesh—and the cries of his men. As he blinked, he became aware of the pain coursing through his lower body, robbing him of breath, making him so dizzy he thought he would pass out again.

He took a deep breath and tried to take stock.

The ground beneath him was wet, his breeches similarly sodden. When he put out a hand to explore this wetness he found it was blood. His blood. Panic ran in quicksilver streams through his limbs.

Focus on something else…

His men.

Turning his head, he could see his second-in-command lying motionless beside him, face ashen, eyes tightly closed. ‘Pevensey?’

There was a low groan and, slowly, Captain Robert Pevensey opened his eyes. ‘Daniel?’ A hand, caked in blood, reached out and, after fumbling in his direction, grabbed his arm.

‘It’s me, Robbie.’

Fear showed clear on the man’s blanched white face. ‘I can’t see!’

There was a large wound in the younger man’s chest and blood matted in the hair and long grass at the back of his head. From what Daniel could see, Robbie had not long to live, either.

Daniel was growing ever more dizzy, but he managed to disengage the hand that gripped him, taking the cold fingers of his friend tightly in his own.

‘You’ll be fine,’ he said thickly. ‘Try to sleep a little.’

‘You’re a damned dreadful liar.’ The voice was weak, but there was a wry smile in it. ‘What state are you in?’

‘Not too bad.’

‘I hope to God that’s true, at least.’ Robbie’s eyes closed slowly.

Daniel squeezed his fingers, but he was no longer sure the younger man could feel him. ‘Pevensey?’

‘Wait.’ Withdrawing his hand, Pevensey reached into his jacket and pulled something out—a miniature in an oval frame, Daniel realised, as it was handed across to him. ‘Where are you?’

‘I’m here.’ Daniel, with some effort, took it and squinted at the tiny likeness, exquisitely detailed. Green eyes stared back at him, flowing honey-blonde hair and a sweetly smiling mouth. ‘Who’s this? Your sweetheart?’

‘Lily. My sister, you remember.’

How could he have forgotten? Daniel cursed his befuddled brain. He had seen this painting before, six months ago, during the most serious conversation of his life—and he knew with a dreadful sinking feeling what was coming next.

‘Daniel?’ The other man’s breath was coming in gasps now. ‘I need to ask you…’

Alarmed by the way the colour was draining from his friend’s face, Daniel touched his arm and attempted to sound authoritative. ‘Save your strength, Captain. There’ll be time enough later.’

With an effort, Robbie shook his head. ‘Please. Listen to me.’

His friend knew he was dying, that much was obvious. Daniel frowned, trying to concentrate, though his own mind felt increasingly fuzzy. ‘Go on.’

‘Remember…what I asked you?’

‘I remember.’

‘You still have the…’ Robbie groaned, eyes closing momentarily.

‘I still have the papers, yes. Of course.’

‘You…are the best man I know. She will need a guardian. Please, promise me you will do as you said and care for her—watch over her. Find her…a husband. It pains me to ask…but I am all she has, and without me…’

Daniel hesitated. He knew he would never make it back to London. This sister of Robbie’s would be alone in the world regardless of what he had said six months ago, and it was no longer in his power to prevent it…However, the belief that she would be helped was important to this man, among the most loyal of his officers but—more importantly—among the best of his friends. And God knew he would do it if he was able.

‘Daniel?’ The face that turned towards him held all manner of pain, sightless eyes wide and panicked. ‘Are you there?’

‘I’m here,’ he said again. ‘I promised you, and I’ll not go back on that promise. I’ll see that your sister is provided for.’

A long sigh escaped Robbie’s pale lips. ‘God bless you.’

‘She is fortunate to have such a brother.’

‘And…’ A grimace of pain crossed the young man’s face. ‘I am fortunate to have a friend such as you…to…’ He bit down on a moan of agony. ‘Just…tell her…I died well…will you?’

‘I’ll tell her.’ He shoved the miniature into his jacket and found his captain’s hand once more. ‘You’ve served bravely and well. Better than most. She will hear of it, I promise.’

‘Thank you, my friend. Now, just—’

‘Robbie.’ As his own pain gnawed more intensely, Daniel was struggling to maintain his focus. ‘Rest.’

‘Just…one more thing.’

‘Name it.’

Green eyes turned to his face. ‘It has been an honour fighting with you—but more so, knowing you. Your father will be…beside himself with pride.’

Daniel’s throat closed. ‘God go with you, my friend.’

Robbie’s blood-caked lips parted in a radiant smile, even as his eyelids drifted shut. Then, where the space between them had been filled with his ragged breathing, there was nothing but silence.

The fingers in Daniel’s grip went slack.

He closed his eyes and tried to force down the grief that welled up from within. He told himself it did not matter, this lie to a dying man. His soul was condemned at any rate, he was sure. But he would have liked to fulfil his promise…if only for the sake of this friendship, forged in a futile war.

A horrible cold was creeping over him now, seeping into his bones as the blood flowed from his body. He would be grateful to sleep a little, also…But just for a moment the image of a beautiful woman, all honeyed tresses and smiling green eyes, floated before him. Her full lips smiled at him, as soothing as they were sensuous, and Daniel thought they formed his name, just for a moment.

‘Major!’

Very far above him, a voice penetrated the fog of exhaustion and pain. An Irish accent, urgent. His lieutenant was calling him.

Daniel knew as he slipped away from the pain, body slackening, that whatever it was, it was important no longer.

Chapter One

London, England—Spring 1782

‘You call that kneadin’, Miss Lily? We’ll never make a kitchen hand out of you at this rate!’

Looking up from her work with strands of honey-blonde hair in her eyes, a smear of flour across her face, and laughter on her lips, Liliana Pevensey grimaced good-naturedly across the kitchen at her companion. Straightening her elbows, she pounded her fists into the dough anew.

‘I found nothing to complain about in last week’s loaf,’ she retorted.

Josephine—ladies’ maid, cook, housekeeper and, lately, companion to the lady of the house—rolled her eyes.

‘Only because I rescued it at the last minute!’

Lily shook her head fondly at the younger girl. ‘What would I do without you?’

It was said in jest, but true enough. It had been four years since her brother had been sent to fight for his country against the rebels in America. Four years since she had been taken in by her aged Aunt Hetty, and come to live here, in the middlemost of a row of cottages in Highgate. Yet it was only in these last three months—since the old lady had died—that Lily, alone in the world with a slowly dwindling income, had begun to know the maid who had laid out her clothes every morning.

Jo was resourceful and hard-working in equal measure, as well as ever ready to cheer up her young mistress. Lily, realising she would soon be unable to pay the household its wages, had gradually let the other servants go, expecting her maid to seek work in a more prestigious household. Yet Jo had stayed, uncomplainingly taking on further tasks as her wages ever dwindled, though Lily knew a ladies’ maid of her talents could have found work anywhere.

She was also, Lily mused, her hands slowing on the dough as her carefree mood slipped away, about the only person in the world who knew her mistress’s true circumstances.

Money had been tight since her brother Robbie had been killed in the war in America. He had always provided for them, ever since the death of their parents when Lily had been fifteen. The money they had been left had been enough to keep them going for a while, and Robbie had sent back most of his salary once he had joined the army. Lily had been provided for, indeed, and proud of her brother, in his smart red uniform, going off to quell the rebels.

Who could have known it would go so badly wrong—that he would be killed so shortly before Cornwallis surrendered, before the war was over and the British soldiers—those that were left—at last came home? Lily had been left reeling from a grief so all-encompassing that she did not remember with any clarity the weeks following the news of his death.

‘Miss Lily?’ Jo was at her elbow. ‘I think that’ll do.’

Lily smiled. ‘I was dreaming.’

‘Worrying, more like.’ With a wry smile, Jo scooped up the dough and pressed it into a pan. ‘Something will turn up, you’ll see. It always does.’ She brightened slightly. ‘Just take your mysterious benefactor, fr’instance.’

‘Hmm.’ Lily crossed her arms, brow furrowing. ‘I would feel more comfortable if I knew who he was.’ The money had been coming regularly each month, since last summer. It was forwarded through her solicitor, and she could not for the life of her prevail upon the crusty old man to tell her who was behind it. ‘A friend of your brother’ was the only clue he professed himself ‘at liberty’ to give. In all honesty, the funds had been her lifeline these past few months, especially with the expenses for Aunt Hetty’s funeral. But she hated being beholden to someone she had never met.

‘Perhaps you could marry him,’ Jo mused teasingly. ‘He must be rich, surely.’

‘T’ would be hard, without first having met him,’ Lily countered with a faint smile. ‘Especially as—’

She broke off as the sound of the huge brass knocker against the front door echoed through the house.

Jo sighed dramatically. ‘I’ll just be a moment.’

She was back in no time, holding up a crisp white packet of paper. ‘It was only a messenger, miss. With this for you.’

‘A letter?’ Lily held out her hand for it. ‘How exciting—no one ever writes to me!’ Her face fell somewhat upon seeing the seal. ‘It’s from Mr Morley.’ Hastily, she wiped her hands on her apron and tore the packet open, revealing a single sheet of paper.

‘The solicitor?’ Jo made a face. ‘Perhaps he’s found some money hidden somewhere and he’s sending it so we can all live happily ever…Miss Lily?’

Lily, face white, looked up from her hurried perusal. ‘He says he regrets to inform me that Cousin Jack has returned from the Continent.’

‘Your Aunt Hetty’s boy?’ Jo snorted. ‘It never failed to confuddle me how such a sweet old lady could have such a gallivanting good-for-nothing for a son. God rest her soul,’ Jo added belatedly, crossing herself.

Lily nodded dumbly, the kind but firm lines that her solicitor had written still burning in her mind.

Jo put her hands on her hips. ‘Well—what of it? Are we expected to give him free board and welcome him with open arms?’

‘Worse. She left the house to him,’ Lily told her mournfully. ‘Don’t you remember, Jo? It was in her will. Now he is returned upon hearing of his mother’s death, and he wants to sell it.’

‘To fund more gadding about overseas, I don’t doubt! His good mother—God rest her soul—has been in the grave these three months, and only now he comes?’ Puffed up with outrage, Jo came closer. ‘Miss Lily—what will you do?’

Lily shook her head, trying to calm the panic within her. ‘I don’t know.’ She could cope with this as she had coped with everything else, surely. If she just thought a little, the solution would come to her…And yet her mind was a blank. There was no money, nothing to sell…There was no question of being able to afford to buy the house from her cousin.

‘Your mystery benefactor? Could we ask him?’

Lily turned a worried face up to her maid. ‘No—certainly not. Even if Mr Morley would tell me who he was, I cannot ask such a thing from a perfect stranger! It’s bad enough that I must be reliant upon his charity as it is.’ She bit her lip. ‘Not that I’m not grateful…It’s just…’

‘I know, Miss Lily.’ Jo pressed her hand. ‘But don’t you fret—there will be a solution. God never gives us more than we can take.’

Lily looked again at the letter, as if the answer was somehow hidden there. ‘I am sure you are right.’ But still she could not, for the life of her, think of anything.

‘You’ll have to ponder it later, miss,’ Jo said tactfully. ‘That is, if you’re still going to the ball.’

With a gasp, Lily put a hand to her mouth. ‘The ball—I’d quite forgot! What time is it?’

‘Almost five.’

Lily’s eyes widened. ‘I shall never be ready by the time Lady Stanton’s carriage calls!’

Untying her apron, she hurried from the room, leaving her maid, shaking her head indulgently, to follow.

‘Does it truly look good enough, Jo?’

Examining herself in front of the mirror, Lily bit her lip for the hundredth time and frowned into her own deep green eyes.

She was wearing a gown she had made herself and that she was proud of, a far cry though it was from those in the windows of the fancy dressmakers of Bond Street. The cobalt-blue silk complemented her light colouring and its full sweeping skirts, gathered and padded at the back, served only to further emphasise her slender waist.

Her hair, the colour of honeycomb, was swept up on her head in an array of soft curls that cascaded downwards in ringlets, brushing her shoulders. She was pleased with the effect her maid had achieved, but still she worried. This ball, a week into her second Season, was important for her future. She needed to make an impression, now more than ever—and that meant hiding her true circumstances from the world.

‘You look like any of them posh folks and more,’ her maid told her with affection. ‘’Cept you’ve still got flour on your cheek.’

‘Heavens—get it off!’ Lily angled her head into the mirror. ‘Where?’

‘Let me.’ Josephine deftly swept a hand over her mistress’s smooth skin.

‘Well, it is fashionable to be pale, I understand.’ Lily met the maid’s eye in the mirror and grinned. ‘And I don’t suppose any of the other ladies at Lady Langley’s ball will have baked their own bread ready for tomorrow’s breakfast.’

‘That they won’t.’ Jo beamed back.

But the smile had already faded from her mistress’s face as Lily turned her mind once more to the daunting task ahead of her. She must prepare herself, from today, for the action she had hoped never to take, reserved only for the direst circumstances.

Would that her brother were here to give her courage.

But then, Lily mused, if he was here she would be free to enjoy the Season like any other young woman, instead of living with the threat of bankruptcy and homelessness in her future. She pursed her lips. There was no use in wishing for what could not be—she had learned that lesson well, this last year in particular.

‘You’re thinking about Mr Robbie again, aren’t you?’ Jo said gently.

Thus prodded gently back into the present, Lily smiled at her. ‘Is it so easy to tell?’

‘He’d be proud to see how you’ve carried on, miss,’ said the younger woman softly. ‘How you’re makin’ a life for yourself.’

With a sigh, Lily looked at her glamorous reflection. ‘Is that what I am doing? I thought I was going out to catch myself a husband.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘God knows I never thought I would find myself here, forced to seek a marriage for money.’

Since her parents had died in the fire that had destroyed their ancestral home six years ago, Robbie and Lily had been alone. Eight years her senior, he had seen her educated and provided for, whilst carving out a career for himself in the British Army, a career he loved second only to his younger sister. He had given her the freedom she craved, and, after his death, she had only been more determined to make her own decisions and remain self-sufficient.

All of which now made the thought of marriage to a stranger—especially marriage for financial reasons—repugnant to her. Lily had always hoped she would be able to marry for love, that she would be a wife to a man who respected her need to enjoy the independence her brother had always given her. But what choice was there, now that they no longer had a home to live in?

Jo echoed her thoughts. ‘We must survive any way we have to, Miss Lily.’

‘You did not have to stay with me, yet you have,’ Lily corrected her.

‘Who would do your hair, else?’ Jo looked fondly at her mistress. ‘You’ll not find a husband to support you without a little help, my lady.’

Lily nodded. ‘I will make it up to you, once my situation improves.’

She was determined that her life would be under her control again as soon as possible. Which was why this dress was so important—along with the charming, carefree persona she adopted for such occasions. She had been that girl once—without a care in the world—and she could play her again, for the sake of survival.

It was time to face up to the fact that she could not live on thin air.

It was time to find a husband.

Chapter Two

After four dances with four equally dull gentlemen, Lily was cursing her vow.

She was doing her best to be what they seemed to like best, effervescent and charming, simpering prettily at them between turns and promenades on the floor—but it was exhausting. She did not know how the other girls around her seemed to achieve such an effect so effortlessly—from the old hands to the veriest débutante.

Nevertheless, it seemed one man was particularly interested in her performance.

Looking up by chance at the end of an energetic country dance, flushed and smiling, she happened to glance across the room—and found a pair of smoky grey-blue eyes watching her.

He did not look away as their eyes met.

Tall, hair so dark as to almost be black, he stood upright at one end of the dance floor—despite his civilian dress an unmistakably military stance. He was immaculately turned out—dark navy jacket and matching waistcoat exquisitely embroidered about the sleeves and hem, close-fitting fawn breeches disappearing into boots, rather than the more fashionable buckled shoes that other men wore this evening. His shoulder-length hair, that unusually dark colour, was tied securely at the nape of his neck, and did not look like it would dare to attempt escape.

All this she took in as, for a moment of pure surprise, she stood fixed in the beam of his gaze across an expanse of laughing people. And, just for a moment, a single strand of awareness stretched between them, unbroken by the laughter, music and innumerable conversations happening around and between them. He did not look at her as the other gentlemen did: admiring her pretty dress, the way her hair curled about her shoulders in tendrils, her smile, even her much-praised eyes.

He looked at her as if he saw her.

It was not a comfortable feeling—and yet, even as she recognised her discomfort, Lily was aware of something else curling into life within her: a warm feathery longing, an unfamiliar but nonetheless unmistakable attraction to this handsome stranger. For handsome he was, she had to admit, even in this instant, held in his stare.

She wanted to smile, yet she could not. She felt the slightest of flushes creep across her cheekbones, and saw—did she imagine?—a response in his dark blue gaze, far though he was from her.

Who was he? Why did he look at her so, as though he could take all of her and more, see through her act and know her completely—all without moving from that spot. What did he want?

Because she did not know what else to do, she dropped her eyes and turned away, watching the dancers take to the floor again, needing a moment to compose herself.

When she looked back—simply because she could not do otherwise—he was talking to the gentleman next to him. In profile he was equally striking, slim about the hips yet broad shouldered, his strong features offset by a generous mouth that set Lily wondering, in a moment quite unlike her usual sensible self, what he looked like when he smiled.

Frowning slightly, she averted her gaze again before he caught her staring—what was she thinking, sizing him up so? Turning slightly away, she scolded herself for such foolishness—was this all it took—a handsome man to make eye-contact with her—for her to behave like a manshy debutante?

She needed something to distract her and, luckily, something presented itself in the form of a young admirer, bowing prettily over her hand and asking most courteously for a dance. Gratefully, she accepted and allowed him to lead her to the floor.

And yet, even while dancing, she was aware of the other’s eyes upon her, watching her every move, giving her a new feeling of self-consciousness. Telling herself she was imagining it, she smiled at her partner and applied herself to the dance.

But when she did glance back, just for a moment, it was to find those grey-blue eyes on her face once more. Lily looked down at her feet as she almost missed a step, the first glimmer of irritation growing in her.

Did he not know it was impolite to stare so? Was he trying to disconcert her? If he wished to make her acquaintance, why did he not simply seek an introduction? Must he stand there appraising her as if she was a horse he was minded to buy?

Even as annoyance flickered into life, Lily knew it was senseless to mind such attention. Was that not, after all, why she was here—to parade herself, an offering for the highest bidder? Was she not reliant upon one of these men being taken enough with her to ignore her lack of land and fortune and propose?

The dance eventually ended, to her relief and, thanking her young partner—it seemed increasingly that the men at such events were becoming ever younger—Lily slipped across to a refreshment table, picked up a drink, and cast her eyes about for Kitty Stanton, the friend who had accompanied her to the ball. She wished to ask about the stranger who still, she saw, glancing hastily across the room, stood where he had been throughout the last two dances, though his conversation partner had changed.

He was nursing a drink in one long-fingered hand, she noticed suddenly, making no effort to sip from the glass as he conversed idly with the older man now at his side. Though he listened and responded politely enough, nothing the gentleman said seemed to move him—or perhaps he was simply immovable. Lily, thinking of his inscrutable gaze, bit her lip in thought.

Who was he? Why did he stand there so, expecting people to come to him?

As she watched, another gentleman and a lady joined his small party, a girl that Lily vaguely knew, and her brother. Introductions were completed, with the stranger still polite but impassive. It was not, Lily mused, that there was anything lacking in his manners—there was just no warmth in anything he did; he held himself at a distance from proceedings, almost.

The lady was gesturing to the dance floor now, casting her large eyes up at the stranger, imploring. Lily could almost hear the exchange—it was very charmingly done—and she hid a wry smile.

But the stranger was shaking his head, looking detachedly regretful. He gestured to the girl’s brother, then to the floor. The insinuation was obvious even to Lily, standing several metres away from them, out of earshot. He was refusing to dance, inviting them to continue without him.

Lily could not help a disapproving frown appearing between her brows. Why would he not dance, when asked so prettily? Could it be, she mused, taking in his flawless appearance, that he did not wish to rumple his clothes? She could not abide men who took themselves so seriously—why attend a ball if you had no intention of taking to the floor? Surely it was a gentleman’s duty to stand up with the ladies?

The lady and her brother were leaving him now, proceeding to the dance floor. Lily thought it was a shame that the young girl had been forced to ask for her own dance and been refused—such an indignity, and all at the hands of this enigmatic stranger.

Almost as if he had heard, he glanced up.

Their eyes met, and she did not have time to replace the frown with a more benign expression. For a long moment he just looked at her. Then, slowly, he raised his glass in greeting, a silent toast across the room that no doubt looked innocent—and probably even charming—to those around. But Lily did not miss the sardonic tilt of his lips, a halfsmile tempered by something else entirely in his eyes—something guarded, almost hostile.

Confused, blushing once more, she dropped her gaze.

Now he was mocking her! What gave him the right to look at her so, when they had not even been introduced? And then to make her feel ashamed for watching him? Who was he?

Gritting her teeth, she turned her back on the dance floor. She was not engaged for the next two dances—and she needed to take some air.

Let him stare at some other poor fool while she was gone.

Daniel Westhaven could not quite believe his eyes.

Robbie Pevensey’s sister was every bit as spoilt and feather-brained as every other simpering powder puff of a woman in this place. He had watched her for most of the evening: speaking to gentlemen, dipping her lashes and smiling winsomely, dancing, flirting and sparkling her way about the ballroom in a dress that told of indulgent expense in its deceptive simplicity of line.

It had taken her a long time to notice his interest, so absorbed in herself had she been. But once she had seen him looking, it was obvious she was trying to impress him.

And then, when he had caught her watching him, he had seen it—disapproval writ clearly on her face. She wondered, no doubt, at his seeming unwillingness to dance and make merry. Like all her kind, pleasure was all she lived for.

His fingers tightened around his glass. This was not what he had expected—he had heard that there was interest in her, that she was out in society again after the death of her brother…But somehow, he had expected the sister of his friend to be different. If not serious, exactly, then with a little intelligence at least.

He sighed inwardly. It did not matter. He was not looking for approval, and God knew he did not expect her to become fond of him. He had survived to keep his promise, against the odds, and now he had a duty to perform—that was all. He would do so, for Robbie.

He did not have to like it.

‘Lily! I have been searching for you!’

Standing in a trance before the fish pond in Lady Langley’s elegant garden, Lily looked round dazedly to see the sweet face and button nose of Lady Katherine Stanton peering out at her from behind a row of potted palms.

‘Kitty.’ She smiled fondly. ‘I was dreaming.’

‘Of a handsome gentleman to whisk you away?’ Kitty, two years her junior and the liveliest of the little group of ladies Lily called her friends, came forward, eyes sparkling. ‘There are many here tonight, for sure.’

‘Have you seen anyone in particular?’

Kitty considered, head on one side. ‘No one as handsome as my Tom, of course. But I have just made the acquaintance of a very dashing gentleman, or, should I say, he made mine. I had fancied him the perfect husband for you at first, but he’s ancient—definitely over thirty. Nevertheless, he seems awfully eager to meet you, so I promised to facilitate the introductions—do come along!’

Lily hid a smile. ‘Ancient indeed.’ She frowned. ‘Why does he wish to meet me?’

Kitty rolled her eyes. ‘Because he is enraptured by your beauty, of course!’

‘He said that?’

‘He had no need to!’

‘Kitty, really.’ Lily ran her hands over her gown, knowing it could not hope to approach the cutting-edge fashion displayed within by the confident, wealthy daughters of the ton.

The younger girl flashed her a wide smile. ‘Forgive me—I am just so excited that the Season is begun at last! Surely this year we shall find you a husband!’

Lily shook her head indulgently. What would Kitty say if she knew the resolutions she had made earlier tonight? And yet, could she not allow herself to hope, surrounded by all this glitter and style, that she would find love along with her much-needed husband?

Such dreams were foolish, she knew. Yet, though she was older than many of her similarly unmarried peers, she could still feel, occasionally, the girlish thrill of a handsome man paying her attention. This year she had looked forward, despite herself, to the round of balls and parties. There was peace to be found in trivial things: chatting with her friends, discussing which gentleman was most handsome, and dancing her way through the long summer nights helped her forget the darker thoughts she experienced, and her fears for the future. These past few years had not been easy ones, the last in particular heavy with sadness.

Kitty, who had been snapped up by the dashing Lord Stanton almost as soon as she had made her début last Season, always tried her best to cheer her, however. Despite her married status, Lily increasingly thought of her as a younger sister—and the girl was regarding her now with approval. ‘You do look lovely tonight, Lily. I am quite jealous.’

Lily looked down at herself, touched at the compliment. ‘You are kind to say so.’ She smiled. ‘But you know you have nothing to be jealous of.’ Small and girlishly lovely, with abundant shining dark hair and huge brown eyes, Kitty had a dramatic effect on men, who seemed to want to sweep her up and protect her. Her husband had faced stiff competition before he had at last carried away his prize.

Kitty grinned impishly. ‘Come, let us go in so you can flirt with Major Westhaven. He looks like he could do with cheering up.’

Lily sighed. ‘Honestly, Kitty!’

‘I will go and fetch him. Count to ten, then follow me.’

‘Very well.’ Lily could not help smiling at her friend’s flair for the dramatic.

She lingered on the steps up to the terrace, patting her hair to make sure it was in place and pinching some colour into her cheeks. If this man was as attractive as Kitty said, she wished to make a good impression, ancient or not.

Then, carrying herself with all the grace she could muster, she stepped inside the ballroom.

‘Ah, Miss Pevensey, there you are!’ Kitty was on her at once, with a naughty wink, laying a hand on her arm. ‘I was just telling the Major you could not have gone far.’

Lily smiled. ‘I was just outside, Lady Stanton, taking some…air…’

She faltered as her eyes fell on the man who stood beside and slightly behind her friend. She should have been prepared—it was obvious, thinking about it now, who the man who so wished to meet her would be.

It was the mysterious stranger whose eyes had followed her so insistently all night.

Close up, his looks were just as striking, the contrast between his dark hair and lighter eyes only highlighting the fact. Ancient he was certainly not, but Kitty had been right—he must be at least a decade older than Lily’s own twenty-one years; his face bore the look of a man who had seen much, experienced life.

Taking all this in, she realised that his eyes—somewhere between blue and grey—were watching her with an odd expression in them once more, almost as if he knew her. And yet Lily was sure she had never beheld this almost indecently handsome man before tonight. Surely she would have remembered?

What she did remember, however, was the mocking salute with his glass, and his dismissive attitude to the merrymaking about him.

She forced herself to smile, though he was still staring.

‘Liliana, may I introduce you to Major Daniel Westhaven?’ There was a girlish excitement in Kitty’s eyes that amused Lily, even as she smiled politely. ‘Major, my good friend, Liliana Pevensey.’

‘Major.’ Lily held out her hand. He took it in strong, warm fingers and bowed over it, eyes still on her face.

All at once her hand was suffused with an odd, tingling warmth that spread up her arm and deep into her belly. There again was that curling attraction, reaching across the space between them, making her feel most peculiar inside. Exasperated with herself for her reaction—let alone the knowledge that she was flushing an alluring shade of pink—Lily hastily withdrew her hand, chastising herself inwardly. Just because he was the best-looking man she had seen in a long time did not mean she should behave like she was still in petticoats! Looks, as she had seen earlier this evening, could cover all manner of other vices, and she hated rudeness and snobbery above all things.

Where had he sprung from, all of a sudden, to torment her so?

‘The Major is back with us after the war in America,’ Kitty informed her, as if sensing the unspoken question.

Lily’s eyes widened even as she captured and buried, through long practice, the stab of painful misery the very mention of those words awoke in her. She half-frowned at her friend, wishing Kitty had thought to warn her, even as she nodded carefully, composing herself invisibly, talking herself back into the persona of the carefree, effervescent lady she must be tonight.

She smiled up at the man before her. ‘The fighting was finished a year ago, my lord,’ she said lightly. She looked at him through her lashes, ever so slightly flirtatious, the way she had practised endless times in front of the mirror, thinking of Kitty and quashing her pride. ‘Where have you been hiding yourself?’

‘I have a house in the country,’ he said, voice deep and rich, yet measured somehow, as if he was careful with his words. ‘I have found little occasion to come to town these few years.’

‘Yet now you join us.’ She allowed the corners of her mouth to tilt up alluringly, while her eyes told him how she really felt. ‘We are fortunate, my lord.’

She knew he had not missed the sarcasm under her cool exterior. Something crossed his face that looked very much like displeasure, but was hidden again so fast that Lily could not be sure.

‘Oakridge is very beautiful, so I hear,’ said Kitty helpfully. ‘My mother has never forgotten the balls your parents used to give, my lord.’

‘Yes,’ he said shortly. ‘Well, it has been some time since I had visitors.’

‘We could redress that for you,’ Kitty told him, touching his arm conspiratorially. ‘You should have a ball—would that not be delightful, Miss Pevensey?’

Lily, swiftly stifling a grin at her friend’s daring, nodded. ‘It would indeed be most enjoyable, my lord.’

He smiled tightly. ‘I would be honoured to have so beautiful a guest in my home, Miss Pevensey.’

Lily gave him her usual sparkling smile. And yet, there was something not quite right. It was exactly the sort of thing she had expected him to say, in truth, yet she could not escape the feeling that he had said it precisely for this reason. There was, she realised, looking up into his closed expression, nothing sincere in his manner at all.

She was distracted by Kitty laying a hand on her arm.

‘I must go and find my husband—I fear he has escaped home while my back has been turned—do excuse me, Miss Pevensey, my lord!’

With this she headed hastily into the throng, leaving them alone.

Lily, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at such an obvious exeunt, turned back to Major Westhaven and—just for a moment—there fell an awkward silence the like of which was unfamiliar for her in such a situation. She refreshed her smile.

‘Tell me, my lord, have you recently become acquainted with Lady Stanton, or are you old friends from when last you were in society? She said her mother knew your parents?’

‘Indeed. And her husband is a member of my club.’ His tone was dismissive, his manner somewhat changed now, darker, more subdued. ‘Miss Pevensey, I wonder if I could call upon you tomorrow?’

‘Oh!’ Surprised, Lily blinked. ‘I thought you wished us to visit you, my lord?’

‘In time,’ he said shortly. ‘But I have something I need to discuss with you. Would that be acceptable?’

Taken by surprise, she was unable to think quickly enough to fabricate a reason why she would not be at home, so she could only nod dumbly. ‘Why, of course…Well…shall we say mid-day, then?’

He nodded, expressionless.

‘I…shall look forward to it.’ Lily could not entirely mask her bewilderment. What could he possibly have to say to her? For such a handsome man, he was disconcertingly lacking in social graces. Perhaps all he needed was to relax a little. If she was to entertain him tomorrow she supposed she should give him another chance.

‘I must confess to noticing you earlier tonight, my lord,’ she told him, wondering if she could broach the subject of his blatant staring.

‘Indeed?’

She nodded. ‘You did not look as if you were enjoying yourself.’

He threw her a measured look. ‘How could I not, in such company?’

His ironic tone caused her teeth to grit instinctively. Carefully rearranging her features into one of polite disinterest, she smiled coolly. ‘You do not care for Lord Langley’s brandy? I am told it is of the finest quality.’

For an instant confusion clouded his face, then he followed her gaze to his glass, still half-full. He raised an eyebrow. ‘I see you have taken careful note, Miss Pevensey.’

‘As you appeared to be doing with me, my lord,’ she replied sweetly.

‘You are not used to gentlemen watching you?’ It was said low, almost a growl, and it reached Lily deep in her stomach. Startled by the sudden hot lurch within, she raised her eyes to his. What she saw in their stormy depths was uncharted, dangerous—and suddenly she knew that this cool exterior, this frosty disdain, was not the real man at all. He was capable of much more than this…much more passion, hinted at in the curve of that generous mouth. The mouth that was, in truth, not so far from hers…

Lily dragged her gaze away from his lips, unaware that her own were parted sensuously. Everything seemed very far away suddenly, everything but him—he stood close enough to touch, looking at her so differently all of a sudden.

What was happening to her?

Lily stepped back slightly. ‘People usually seek an introduction if they wish to speak to someone,’ was all she could think of to say, lashes covering her confusion.

‘As did I.’

‘You did.’ She looked away for a moment, gathering her wits about her. ‘Eventually. I suppose manners recovered are better than manners lost for good.’

There was a short, surprised pause. Then he drew himself up. ‘Miss Pevensey, I am not sure—’

But she was too far along to care for politeness now. ‘You do not dance, either, it appears, Major?’

He did not reply.

Looking up at him, Lily was surprised to see that his expression had become stony, as if she had taken some unimaginable liberty. She raised her eyebrows and smiled pleasantly, encouraging an answer. He regarded her for a long moment, jaw tight, as though he did not know quite what to make of this performance.

‘Regrettably not,’ he said curtly. ‘But I am sure there are plentiful supplies of younger men available to assist you.’

She blinked. ‘You think this is my way of asking you to stand up with me?’

‘Is it not?’

‘Why would I ask you when you have made it clear you find such things distasteful? Although,’ she added, because she could not resist seeing his response, ‘I will never refuse a dance if asked nicely.’

‘I can only offer my apologies.’ He did not sound remotely regretful.

‘My lord!’ Lily said, an acidly teasing tone in her voice. ‘Surely you are not suggesting that your years are too advanced to allow you to dance? Why, there is old Mr Georgestone on the dance floor now, sixty if he is a day! See how he can still turn a pretty step, even with his old bones? I think you would have little trouble, if you did decide to—’

‘I have given you my answer.’

His tone was so cold that it stopped Lily immediately, her eyes widening and darting to his. Again she felt her colour rise as she realised he did not take kindly to being baited, however lightly. This man had no intention of dancing with her—worse, he looked at her as if he could think of nothing more repugnant. She lowered her gaze again.

‘Forgive me, my lord,’ she managed, ‘I had not intended—’

‘Miss Pevensey.’

She turned as a handsome blond-haired man came up beside them and bowed deeply, looking absurdly young in his fashionably striped waistcoat and formal jacket. ‘Can it be that you are becoming more lovely?’

‘Lord Denham!’ Lily smiled with all the pleasure she could feign under such straitened circumstances. First the cold Major Westhaven, and now this popinjay also?

A dandy and a flirt, with a reputation for his love of gambling and frivolous attitude to the opposite sex, Lord Denham often sought her out to flatter and tease. She knew he could have no interest in her, penniless as she was—but that did not prevent him playing with her, amusing himself, she suspected, until a more serious prospect presented itself. He was everything she disliked in a man: bored, spoilt and idle. Perhaps, she thought caustically, she could introduce him to Lord Westhaven; they would probably become firm friends. At least then they would leave her alone.

‘Can it be that you are becoming more insincere, my lord?’ she said, a teasing note in her voice, because she knew that was what he expected. It would not do to get a reputation for churlishness—and she knew Lord Denham could scupper her prospects with barely a word to his fashionable friends if she fell out of favour with him.

Sighing inwardly, she turned back to her sullen companion. ‘Major Westhaven, I trust you know Charles Denham? His father is Lord Ashburton.’

‘We are acquainted.’ Major Westhaven bowed slightly to the newcomer, still stony faced.

Lily gritted her teeth. Why was he so unpleasant? Stung, she turned to Lord Denham and beamed at him, slipping back into the role she was supposed to be playing, that of carefree socialite. This was, at the very least, her chance of escape.

‘Lord Denham—I wonder if you would do me a favour?’

He bowed extravagantly.

‘Certainly. Whatever I can do to be of service.’

‘You are so kind.’ She dropped her lashes in the time-honoured way and, out of the corner of her eye, she was sure she saw the Major clench his jaw in obvious displeasure. Spurred on by an unexpected delight in annoying him, she simpered, ‘You see, I have the most delightful new dancing shoes…’ Withdrawing her gown just enough to allow the pointed tip of one shoe to peek out—blue to match her dress, embroidered with dark pink roses—she tipped her face up to his. ‘So pretty, do you not agree?’ She looked over at Major Westhaven, including him in the moment.

He was watching her, trying hard to conceal an irritation that showed clearly in his eyes, while Charlie, conversely, looked enchanted.

‘Very pretty indeed. And how may I help, Miss Pevensey?’ the younger man asked smoothly, clearly gratified by her attentions.

She pouted in mock admonishment. ‘Why, sir, the Major will not deign to dance with me, and you are almost as neglectful! You have been here all night and you have not yet asked me!’ Blushing prettily, she swept her luxurious lashes down until they touched her cheeks. ‘I know you will forgive me, my lord—though it should be your place to ask. But I am so excited by my new shoes—I cannot wait another minute to try them out.’ She smiled winningly at him. ‘You could assist me greatly by asking me to stand up with you.’

‘Well, I had indeed come over with the intention to see if you would do me the honour,’ the young man said, smiling at Lily. ‘If the Major does not object.’

‘On the contrary. Miss Pevensey was just looking for a dance partner and, as I cannot oblige…’ Major Westhaven inclined his head to Lily. ‘A pleasure to have met you, Miss Pevensey,’ he said softly, in tones so sardonic Lily felt her blood rise.

‘The pleasure was all mine, my lord,’ she said, voice every bit as chilling as his. ‘You will be the darling of the whole town in no time with such manners.’

His eyes met hers, and she saw a flash of tightly controlled anger in their stony depths. Lily raised her chin. She was not some pup of a soldier, his to discipline on the field. She was a lady who had been treated very shoddily by a stranger who seemed to think his looks alone were enough to get by in the drawing rooms of the ton.

He said nothing, only bowed and turned away.

He was not quite out of earshot when she turned to Denham, furious. ‘What an awful man!’ She cared not whether he heard—and, sure enough, her heated retort must have reached his ears, for she saw his shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly. Triumphant, she fixed the amused-looking dandy before her with a dazzling smile.

‘Come, Lord Denham, let us dance.’

Lily danced until her annoyance at Major Westhaven faded, swept away on a tide of smiling faces and soothing music. At last, feet aching but temper much improved, she sought refuge on a well-padded chaise longue, placed beside the open French windows where a gentle breeze from the terrace cooled her wonderfully.

The smell of cigar smoke reached her as she reclined, mingling with low male voices outside. Glancing out past the gently blowing lace curtains that hid her from their view, Lily saw the boyishly good-looking face of Charlie Denham, hair ruffled from dancing, looking pleased with himself as he always did at such events and—in fact—in general. His companions, a group of five or so men, were similarly dishevelled. All but one—tall, devilishly handsome and still immaculately turned out, Major Westhaven was leaning nonchalantly against the stone balustrade. With a twist of annoyance at the sight of him, Lily was about to rise to her feet and seek rest elsewhere when she heard her name. Instinctively, she drew further back behind the curtain, its sheer folds allowing her to see the men while shielding her from their view. Not that they were concerned with anything but their conversation—of which she was the topic, it seemed.

‘Miss Pevensey is lovely tonight,’ Denham was saying, in tones of appreciation that made Lily’s flesh creep. ‘As always.’

There were several murmurs of agreement, but nothing from the Major, gazing out across the gardens as if such a topic did not interest him. Denham smiled. ‘You were unimpressed by the beautiful Liliana, Major?’

Laconically, the older man turned his attention back to the group. ‘Not at all. She is indeed lovely.’ Blue plumes rose from his cigar into the night air as Daniel Westhaven arched a wry eyebrow. ‘Have your eye on her, do you, Denham?’

Charlie laughed, and to Lily’s ears he sounded a little uncomfortable. Surely the Major must know that he would never seriously court any but a rich woman? ‘Would not any man? She’s penniless, of course, but she’s from good stock.’

Something must have been betrayed in the Major’s face at closer quarters than Lily could see for, sounding amused, Charles asked, ‘Not your type, eh? You want a woman who’ll what—converse with you? Is that what you learned fighting the rebels, Major? Personally, I’d thank the Lord for a wife like Liliana Pevensey to keep my house, warm my bed and host my parties. When I want conversation I’ll go to my club.’

Major Westhaven smiled tightly, irritation sketched in the clean lines of his stance. He did not take kindly, it seemed, to the subtle mockery of his peers. ‘It appears I am in the minority. Apparently beautiful and vacant is what the men of the ton want these days, for she seems to have all of you enthralled.’

Lily, frozen to the spot, felt the colour rise in her cheeks. She could see only his profile now, looking out towards the garden.

Beautiful and vacant.

Had she imagined that? A little shudder passed through her. Beautiful she had been called before—men said it to her all the time—Major Westhaven himself had said it not two hours ago! But it was usually accompanied by sparkling, or gay, or even effervescent…

But vacant?

Humiliation burned up her spine, making her shiver all over again, bringing tears to her eyes. Vacant could not be flattering, not by anyone’s standards. And the other men had hardly tripped over themselves to defend her there.

She tried hard to swallow and found she could not quite manage it.

Desperately she tried to talk some sense into herself, to redress the damage those words had done, sinking into her flesh like so many barbs.

After her parents died, her life had been filled with misery and loneliness, especially when Robbie had left for his faraway war, and she had never felt at home anywhere since. She had wanted nothing more than to hide from the world, immersed in the comforting routines of running her aunt’s house—keeping her mind off the uncertainty of her future, trusting always that her brother would return. But he had not—and she had come to realise that no one would take care of her if she did not take care of herself.

She had been unable—and unwilling—to make her début when planned, due to the mourning that followed Robbie’s death. But she had finally come out last Season, at her aunt’s urging. As a débutante last year, she had assumed that other girls received more attention than herself because she was somewhat older; but she had soon come to see that the others made themselves alluring to men by dampening their own wits—by simpering, giggling and flirting their way into the affections of men like Charles Denham.

So at the start of this Season, by now quite alone in the world but determined not to be beaten, she had made a choice.

She needed to marry or become destitute, so she had determined that she, too, could find a husband this way. She had transformed herself—become lovely, carefree Liliana Pevensey, her slender waist, golden curls, graceful carriage and elegant neck the subject of many a compliment by various gentlemen who barely remembered making her acquaintance the year before. She had laughed and danced as if she lived for nothing else, and tried desperately to forget how her heart bled beneath her homemade gowns.

A year ago the very idea of playing such a role would have been abhorrent to her; she knew that her brother would not recognise her if he saw her this way—would very likely despise what she had become.

But he was dead, and this was how she must survive. She was careful to always be chatty at parties, eager to flirt and converse—and, true enough, more attention was paid to her. She had survived by telling herself that, once they were married, her husband would not want her to remain for ever the living doll he had married. They could, in time, become equals.

But now…was she not fooling herself? In her mind she heard Denham’s words once more: ‘When I want conversation I’ll go to my club.’ There had been murmurs of agreement from his friends. Was this what she had to look forward to in marriage? He had defended her beauty staunchly enough—but not her wits. How could he—when he had no idea she could do anything other than sparkle like an expensive bauble? When he did not care, and neither did his peers?

Lily clasped her hands together tightly in her lap, trying to hold in the despair that gripped her. She knew she was not vacant. Was she to care what this…this…warembittered hermit said? And yet she knew precisely why such damage had been done by mere words from a selfrighteous stranger.

Because deep within her, Lily knew that Major Westhaven was right.

She knew, in her heart, that many thought what he did of women who behaved as she had. This flippant, frivolous character she portrayed was what men wanted—but must she play this role for the rest of her life when the consequences were to be called…vacant?

Lily rose to her feet, a tear spilling down her cheek before she could stop it. Wiping it away, she frowned defiantly. Who was this man, who seemed to think he could say what he pleased with no repercussions?

She did not want a husband—necessity required that she find one. She had a mind, and knew how to use it—and mere words could not make it otherwise! She must hold fast to that, believe against her mounting doubts that she could still marry one of these men without losing herself.

Daniel Westhaven was nothing to her—she would not let him spoil her evening or her plans. He had money, after all—he did not know what it was to fear bankruptcy!

Lifting her chin, she stood up to rejoin the party.

She would sparkle, be vibrant and lovely, without a care, as if it was true of her wounded soul. And no one would ever know otherwise.

Chapter Three

Lily was amazed when the sound of the heavy brass front door-knocker echoed through the house the next afternoon. Hastening to the window, she saw the upright figure of Major Westhaven on Jo’s immaculately polished steps.

‘He has come!’

‘Good thing I made some scones, then.’ Jo grinned at her surprise. ‘He did say he would come, did he not? You said so last night.’

‘Well…yes…but…’ In truth, awakening this morning with her mind full of all there was to be done, she had quite forgotten all about the promised visit. She had not told her maid about what had passed between herself and the Major, or the things she had overheard—it was too humiliating. She was truly surprised to see that he had actually come, after he had clearly found her so distasteful.

But he was here, so she supposed she must entertain him.

‘Very well. Please show him in.’ She looked around her at the shabby sitting room. ‘On second thoughts, show him into the garden. I don’t want him looking down his nose at everything.’

With Jo dispatched to the door, Lily hastily smoothed down her hair and dress, seized the first book she saw and fled through the house and out into the sunny walled garden that she tended so diligently. Vines trailed up the walls, flowers stood in tubs, perfuming the air with their heady fragrance, and there was an apple tree at the end of the garden. The sight of her haven immediately served to relax her, and Lily was able to take a couple of deep breaths and calm herself.

Whatever this arrogant boor of a man wanted, all she had to do was sit, be polite, and eventually he would leave. She could manage that.

She seated herself at the wrought-iron table and chairs that stood on the carefully tended grass, and attempted to look as if she had been there, absorbed in her novel, for some time.

Almost immediately, footsteps heralded his arrival, and when she looked up Major Westhaven was filling the doorway.

She rose, laying her book aside. She had forgotten quite how tall he was. His looks were just as arresting here, in daylight, as under the twinkling lights of the ball. But he looked, if possible, even more serious, with not the barest hint of a smile to soften his finely wrought features.

‘Good morning, Miss Pevensey.’

‘My lord.’ Automatically, she held out her hand. He took it, his own much larger palm enveloping hers. At his touch she felt again the uncertainty of last night, the tension like an invisible rope, stretched between them. She stepped away. ‘Please, be seated.’ As they sat, she attempted a smile for both of them. ‘Will you take tea?’

‘No, thank you.’

Jo, just appearing in the doorway with the tea tray, grimaced at her mistress behind their visitor’s back and took it away again.

Lily smoothed her hair. ‘I trust I find you well?’

He inclined his head. ‘Very. Thank you. Yourself?’

‘Of course. As always.’

He nodded. He looked slightly quizzical, she thought, and wondered if he was asking himself why she was not fluttering her eyelashes at him as she had last night. Lily did not care. She did not have the energy this morning, and goodness knew there was nothing about this man that she wanted to impress.

She sat, composed, through the brief silence that followed. He looked down at his hands, then back at her. ‘Miss Pevensey, I regret this is not a social call.’

Lily pursed her lips. ‘Evidently.’ She knew he had seen her exasperation at his formal manner, but she did not care. ‘Might I ask then, my lord, what brings you here?’ She smiled tightly, trying to soften her initial reaction.

Just for a moment, he hesitated. ‘It is a topic of some…delicacy. There is a matter of great import that I must discuss with you.’

He looked at her so seriously that Lily felt her smile dying. ‘Concerning myself, my lord?’

‘Concerning your brother,’ he said quietly.

Lily felt herself stiffen. Whatever she had expected, it had not been this. ‘Robbie?’ she said faintly, voice not quite steady.

He nodded. ‘We were in the 63rd Regiment together. He served under me.’

‘I see.’ Forcing herself to remain still, Lily fought back the wave of grief that broke over her.

It was this way whenever, without warning, she was made to think of her brother: golden, smiling, heading bravely off to war with ideals of heroism and victory for king and country. Instead the war had been for nothing, the colony lost and Robbie with it, his body buried far from home, broken like his hopes for the future—and those of his sister.

Pushing her emotions deep within her, she raised her chin and hoped the pallor she knew had taken her over was not too evident.

The Major’s eyes were on her face. ‘I must tell you, Miss Pevensey, he was among the best—’

‘How well did you know my brother, Major Westhaven?’ she interrupted desperately, hands buried in her skirts and balled into fists, her nails digging into her palms as she willed her eyes not to fill with the tears that came whenever she allowed herself to think of Robbie.

Grey-blue eyes met hers. ‘He was my second-in-command. And my friend. I was with him when he died.’

Lily, shocked, nodded stiltedly. She had expected to be generically told what a good man her brother had been by someone who vaguely knew him…not this. She could not think about it, could not speak of it with this tall, forbidding stranger who had seen her beloved brother at the very moment of his death. She did not want to hear about Robbie’s last hours—not now. Perhaps not ever. But she must not weep—she must retain her composure before this man, who seemed so unlike someone her brother would call his friend.

‘So you have come to describe his death to me?’ she said stiffly. ‘You feel it is something I should hear?’

‘That is not why I am here.’ Major Westhaven was watching her closely. ‘You have been receiving money every month, have you not?’

‘Money?’ Thrown by his change of tack, she was momentarily nonplussed. ‘Well, yes, but I do not see…’ Trailing off, she blinked. ‘It was…from you?’

He nodded.

‘Oh!’ This was so far from what she had been expecting that it took Lily several seconds to compose her face into a look of graceful gratitude. ‘I have often longed to meet my benefactor, sir. I must thank you…but…’ Unable to stop herself, she continued, ‘May I ask…why you have done this for me?’

‘Because he asked me to look after you.’

‘He asked you?’

His jaw tightened—he had not missed the disbelief in her voice. ‘Perhaps you should read what he has to say for yourself.’ He handed her an envelope of thick, white paper. ‘He gave me this to deliver to you some months before he died, when he first asked if I would be responsible for your well-being in the event of his death.’

She stared at it. Her name was written on the front in a scrawl she knew as well as her own, neater script. ‘This is from Robbie?’

He nodded.

Dropping her eyes to her lap so he would not see the sudden tears that threatened, she took a couple of deep breaths. ‘Thank you. I will read it later.’

He frowned. ‘I really think—’

‘If that is all…’ She rose to her feet. ‘I am sorry, I feel a headache coming on…I think I should lie down for a while.’

‘That is not all.’ He pushed himself up off the chair and stood, looking down at her from his much greater height. ‘Miss Pevensey, your brother has seen fit to make me your guardian.’

For a long moment, she stared at him. ‘My…what?’

‘It was planned out in advance—but was also his last wish,’ he said quietly, voice betraying no emotion. ‘He wanted you to be provided for. I visited your solicitor this morning and I have taken charge of your financial affairs. You will come to live with me, or you may live in my house in Richmond, whichever you choose. I will provide for you until you are married.’

Lily, openmouthed, was shaking her head. Truly, the man was insane. He had taken charge of her affairs? He wanted her to live with him? He had planned her future, just like that, without so much as informing her in advance?

‘By what authority have you done this, sir?’ she demanded, stunned almost into laughter by the ridiculousness of such a situation.

‘Captain Pevensey put everything in place before he died, as I have said.’ He handed her another piece of paper. ‘This was what he gave me to make it official, and he instructed his lawyers also. I am assured it is legal—I am your guardian.’

Hand shaking, Lily took the paper, and her knees gave way when she saw her brother’s unmistakable handwriting on this unbelievable document. She sat down with a thud, eyes fixed on the words. Robbie’s signature. Major Westhaven’s signature. It was official.

It was true.

Her brother had signed her over to this cold, cheerless man, as if she was no more than a favourite horse. And he had done it without so much as hinting to her that one day she would be sitting in her garden, trying desperately not to weep before the stranger who was to be responsible for her well-being. How could he do such a thing?

Very slowly, she looked up, willing all trace of emotion from her voice. ‘I thank you for your interest, my lord,’ she said carefully. ‘But it is not needed. I have no need of your…guardianship. I have a home, and sufficient money.’

He took the paper as she handed it back, but did not put it away. ‘Forgive me, but I know that is not true. You are almost penniless, and your home is about to be sold.’

‘How do you know that?’ She stared at him, incredulous. ‘When I myself found out only yesterday?’

‘Your solicitor entrusted me with the knowledge, knowing I would use it in your best interest.’ He left her a moment to digest this in stunned silence, then added, ‘Even if your home were not to be sold, you cannot live here as a young woman alone. It is not appropriate.’

‘Appropriate?’ Lily was amazed. ‘And living with you would be appropriate?’

‘As I have said,’ he told her, with maddening patience, ‘you need not live with me if you do not choose. I have a home in Richmond.’

‘So you will closet me away in the country, to rot?’

Major Westhaven got to his feet. ‘I can see you will need a little time to get used to the idea, Miss Pevensey. I will leave you to think on it.’

‘I do not need to think on it! I know I will not leave my home to live with a stranger!’

‘Visit me in Richmond,’ he said. ‘You will like Oakridge.’

‘Do not tell me what I will like!’ Lily was dangerously close to tears now. ‘I do not need you, sir, or your platitudes!’

He stood for a moment, just looking at her. Then, quietly, but with great authority, he said, ‘Miss Pevensey, you do not have a choice. This is what your brother has decided for you, and it is for the best.’

‘Then why do you look as if you go to the gallows?’ she spat at him. ‘You are all too obviously less than thrilled at having to fulfil such a task! Why do we not just agree to forget the matter?’

A muscle ticked in his jaw. Drawing himself up, he bowed stiffly. ‘I shall leave you to read your letter.’

Helpless, Lily turned away as he left, unable to protest lest she lose what little control she had left. Hastily, she tore open the letter in her hand, desperate for an explanation. A single sheet of paper lay inside, the writing achingly familiar.

Taking a deep breath, she focused on the words.

Lily,

If you are reading this then I am glad I wrote it, for it seems I have left you alone in the world. Forgive me—all I wanted was to come back to you.

I thought long about what to do in the event of my death, and this was the solution I found. Daniel Westhaven is a good friend, the best man I have ever met. He is a man of honour and integrity, and if I had to entrust you into anyone’s keeping, it would be his. If you are reading this—and it seems you are, dear sister—then it means I have plucked up the courage to ask him this greatest of all favours, and that he has agreed, and kept his word by finding you. Trust him, as I do—he will not fail us.

All that remains is to say goodbye, my beloved Lily. I will see you when we meet again. Until then, be happy.

Robbie

By the time Lily had finished reading, tears were coursing down her cheeks. It was as if she had heard him speaking to her, so typical was this letter of her brother’s cheerful rhetoric. And yet, how could he have so misjudged his commanding officer?

Major Westhaven was a man grudgingly fulfilling a promise he obviously regretted making, involving himself with a woman he appeared not to like in the slightest. He had not pretended otherwise, or attempted to consider Lily’s feelings.

How could Robbie have done such a thing?

Weeping now, Lily dropped the letter and buried her head in her hands. This message from her brother was precious, but in such circumstances…

‘Miss Lily?’ Jo was standing before her. ‘Major Westhaven’s just bolted out of the house like the devil was after him. He said I should go to you.’

‘Did he now?’ Lily raised a tear-streaked face to her maid. ‘He has started fulfilling his duties already, then! And as to the devil being after him, I dare say it is no more than the truth!’

‘I’m not sure I follow…’ Jo picked up the letter and frowned at it. ‘May I?’ When Lily nodded she read its contents, slowly, brow furrowed to ensure she was making sense of things.

‘But, miss, he’s saved you.’

Lily shook her head. ‘He thought he had. But apparently he has no grasp of what manner of man Major Westhaven is!’

‘What makes you say that?’

Lily stared at her maid in disbelief. ‘Did you see him? The man can barely exchange pleasantries—and Robbie says that is honour and integrity?’ And he had spoken of her at the ball so rudely—as if she was his to judge. Perhaps he considered that she was.

Jo bit her lip. ‘True, he is a little rough around the edges. But he has been out of society a long time, Miss Lily. Perhaps he has forgotten how to deal with ladies.’

Lily was wiping her eyes in a vain attempt to stop crying. ‘He wants me to visit his home in Richmond. He says I can live there if I do not wish to live with him. But how can I go—it will look as if I am agreeing!’

Jo took her hands. ‘Miss Lily. May I give you some advice?’

Lily nodded, helpless.

‘Trust your brother. You need not trust the Major, you don’t know him from Adam, after all. But give Robbie a chance, at least.’

Very still, Lily stared at her. ‘I have always trusted Robbie.’

‘Then don’t stop now.’ Jo smiled wryly. ‘Besides, this house is to be sold out from under you, and you’ve no money. What choice do you have, really?’

Lily frowned.

‘Just visit him, at least.’

‘But then I am as good as accepting his ridiculous proposal!’

‘It is not his ridiculous proposal,’ said Jo gently. ‘It’s Robbie’s. What was that you were just saying about trust?’

Lily took the letter from Jo and read her brother’s bold scrawl again. This was the last wish he had, Major Westhaven said, that she would be looked after. The last thoughts he had on earth had been regarding her, and her safety. Did that not merit something?

She sighed. ‘Very well. I will visit him, and see if he can at least be civil. But that is all.’

Jo smiled, and squeezed her arm. ‘It’s a start, Miss Lily. It’s a start.’

Chapter Four

It was overcast on Wednesday afternoon, the flinty grey of the sky matching Lily’s mood as she climbed into the carriage Major Westhaven had sent for her.

‘Do move over—there is no room for me!’

She looked over her shoulder as Kitty clambered in beside her, burnished ringlets springing everywhere.

‘I do not know how anyone would ever consider you a suitable chaperon, Lady Stanton,’ Lily said, smiling despite herself.

‘How dare you? I am an old married woman now—I have the moral fibre required!’ Kitty gave a wicked smile. ‘Besides, you have no need of one anyway—Major Westhaven is your legal guardian!’

‘I still want you with me.’ The mere mention of his name dampened Lily’s spirits anew. ‘He is the most conceited and unfeeling of men, Kitty. The sooner we can conclude our visit and come home, the happier I will be!’

‘I still do not understand why you say such things,’ her friend protested. ‘He seemed perfectly lovely at the ball. And he is so handsome.’

‘He was different when you left—I have told you. And when he visited me at home he was awfully high handed.’

‘Do not despair.’ Kitty leaned into her friend, and gave her a little nudge. ‘He may yet be the perfect host!’

‘Nothing would surprise me more,’ Lily muttered.

She tried not to dwell on her dread of meeting him again as the streets of London gave way to country and the carriage drew ever closer to Richmond. Perhaps he would be more bearable in his own home.

And she had to admit, as they eventually turned into an almost hidden entrance and the trees fell away from the long driveway, revealing Oakridge in all its white-stoned, columned glory, that his home was beautiful. The house was set in a large park, sitting before an oval lake on which swans glided. There was a wood off to one side, and a chapel was visible in the distance. Lily bit her lip. He was clearly very wealthy. Perhaps that accounted for some of his arrogance.

The carriage drew up on a sweeping circular drive, and Lily and Kitty were greeted by an ancient but distinguished-looking silver-haired servant, who gestured them up the imposing stone steps and into the hall and took their things.

‘Welcome to Oakridge Park. His lordship will be with you shortly.’

His lordship? Lily frowned a little. If he had a title, why did he call himself merely Major Westhaven? She was given little time to ponder this before there were footsteps behind her, and he said, ‘Miss Pevensey.’

Lily turned. He was, again, immaculately turned out, in a dusky red jacket and fawn breeches, the boots he favoured over less militaristic footwear polished to a high sheen. He looked every inch the haughty landowner.

She reminded herself to smile, though he barely had. ‘My lord. Thank you again for the invitation.’

‘Thank you for accepting.’

She ignored the trace of irony in his voice and held her smile. ‘I could not have done otherwise.’ It was, after all, perfectly true. He himself had told her that she was responsible to him under the law.

He looked like he doubted this, but made no further comment.

‘You know Lady Stanton, of course,’ she said belatedly, remembering Kitty, uncharacteristically quiet beside her.

He bowed. ‘Of course. Welcome to Oakridge, Lady Stanton.’

Kitty, who had been watching them both with a look of calculating fascination, roused herself to smile dazzlingly at him. ‘Thank you, my lord. How lovely to finally be here—and how beautiful your home is. I was quite enraptured coming up the drive. My parents did not exaggerate, it seems.’

He nodded slightly, his smile a little distracted.

Kitty, clearly expecting him to have something to say to this mouthful of compliments, looked a little taken aback by his lack of response. Lily wanted to elbow her and mouth I told you, but he was watching her too intently.

‘I have ordered afternoon tea,’ he told them. ‘But first, would you care to walk in the long gallery?’

She nodded. ‘Very much.’ At least looking at paintings would give her something to say to him. ‘Kitty?’

‘Oh!’ Her friend was lost in contemplation again. ‘Yes, lovely. Do not mind me, I shall follow on behind.’

‘Excellent. This way.’ He gestured for Lily to walk before him. Reluctantly leaving Kitty’s side, she did so.

The gallery was bathed in the full sun of the afternoon, slanting through the huge windows that ran from the wooden floor to the high, vaulted ceiling. Stretching out before them were dozens of paintings of Westhaven ancestors—mostly long dead, Lily imagined. They went forward slowly, footsteps echoing on the floorboards, the air between them palpably awkward. Out of the corner of her eye Lily could see Kitty hanging back, apparently deeply enthralled with a vase that stood by the wall.

After a few moments, when it seemed Major Westhaven would make no attempt to start a conversation, Lily cleared her throat discreetly.

‘Has Oakridge been in your family long?’

‘Several generations.’

She waited to see if he was going to elaborate, but he did not.

‘You live alone?’

He shot her a hard look. ‘Yes.’

‘You have no family in the area?’

‘I have two older sisters—both married with children, one in Bristol, the other in Hertfordshire—and two younger brothers. One lives on the family estate in Ireland, and the youngest is at Oxford.’

‘Are they often in London?’

‘Practically never.’

There seemed little to say to so succinct a summary, so Lily merely nodded, racking her brains for something else to say. Her eye fell upon a portrait, somewhat badly placed in a shadowy corner—a younger version of the man at her side. He was in full military regalia, slim in his red dress coat, dark good looks and somewhat brooding expression captured perfectly, she thought.

‘Were you long in the army, my lord?’ she asked lightly.

His eyes moved to the painting, and a furrow appeared between his brows. ‘Eleven years, until my discharge last year.’

‘You were in the war in America for its duration?’

‘I was.’ Angling his body away from her, he gestured to the opposite wall. ‘My parents.’

Grateful to be diverted from a subject she was never comfortable with, Lily turned to feign admiration at yet another painting—and found herself transfixed.

Large and in pride of place, mid-gallery, in an ornate gilt frame, it was a likeness of a handsome raven-haired gentleman and his wife, slender and beautiful, her reddish-brown hair curling in tendrils about her face.

‘They look so happy,’ she murmured, smiling up at the work as she forgot to feel awkward for a moment; it was so well done, and the people in it looked so lively and yet at ease, as if they needed nothing but each other.

He followed her gaze. ‘It was done shortly after they were married.’

‘And this one?’

The next painting along was the same man as before, she was sure, years older, hair grey now, but with the same kind expression and distinguished good looks. ‘Your father again?’

‘Yes,’ he said shortly.

There was something in his voice that made her turn, but his countenance was as smooth as ever, giving no clue as to what lay beneath.

‘You’re like him,’ she said, without thinking. For though the dark eyes in the picture were very different to the blue-grey ones watching her now, there was a likeness around the mouth, and the same inscrutability of expression.

He gave a derisive grunt. ‘The similarities between us were slight, I assure you.’

Lily hid a smile. ‘I meant merely to suggest you resemble him physically, my lord.’ For, in truth, there was precious little of his surly son in the face of the man in the painting before her.

Major Westhaven glanced at her, seemed to guess her meaning, and frowned.

‘Obviously, I can never hope to be the man he was.’

Lily raised her eyebrows. ‘Well. We all have our faults, Major.’

His jaw tightened. ‘Indeed we do, Miss Pevensey.’ There was a brief, loaded silence. Then he said, ‘Tea, I think.’

She smiled, equally tightly. ‘Lovely.’

They continued their progress, slowly, Lily feigning absorption in the many works of art displayed on his walls—the Major giving her time to admire his ancestors, but commenting on no other paintings.

By the time they had passed through the large double doors into a well-appointed sitting room adjoining the gallery, another uncomfortable silence had descended. Kitty, bringing up the rear, looked quizzically at Lily when the Major’s back was turned and received a frown for her trouble.

The ancient butler entered with the tea as Major Westhaven ushered them to their seats, courteous but still silent. Remembering with an inward sigh that she was supposed to be making an effort to like him, Lily determined to try lightening the atmosphere. ‘Your home is beautiful,’ she said, turning once more to look into the long gallery behind them.

His gaze was dispassionate. ‘Lately I have come to prefer the convenience of my house in town.’

‘And where is that?’ she asked, hearing the obvious forced cheer in her own attempts at polite small talk.

He shot her a look, as if he had heard this thought also. ‘Brook Street.’

‘Oh. Lovely.’

‘It’s convenient for my club,’ he said.

‘Mmm.’ Lily, usually so engaging in any social situation, could think of nothing else to say. Kitty, at her side with her hands demurely in her lap, appeared to have been struck dumb for the first time in her life, providing no assistance at all. Gratefully, Lily smiled at the butler as he placed a teapot, cups and a plate of dainty cakes on the table between them, welcoming the distraction.

‘Shall I pour, my lord?’ she asked.

He inclined his head.

Not allowing herself to be irritated, she forced a smile, pouring tea for all of them. Carefully, she picked up his teacup, proffering it at the same time as he put out a hand to take it; the collision rocked the dainty cup and tea slopped into the saucer.

Immediately his hands were under it, steadying the saucer, his long fingers against and between hers, his thumb grazing her knuckles.

An odd jolt went through Lily at his touch, both a heat where his flesh brushed hers, and another shot of warmer, tingling something deep inside—so that for a moment she could do nothing but stare at him, as they held up the teacup together.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, feeling herself flush, lost in his smoky blue-grey gaze.

‘Allow me,’ he said, smoothly enough. He took the cup and placed it at his elbow, adding a lump of sugar and stirring his tea as though nothing had transpired, but she did not miss the slight hint of an undercurrent in his tone, nor the small sardonic lift at the corner of his mouth.

Lily gritted her teeth—now he would think she was so mindless that she could not do a simple thing like pouring tea! Immediately, her brow furrowed at this unexpected inner lament. She did not care what he thought. That was why she was here, making small talk, was it not? To prove that he could be as unpleasant as he liked and it would not stir her?

She passed Kitty a cup of tea and, thoroughly disconcerted, tried to remember where they had been in the conversation. He lived in Brook Street…it was convenient for his club…

‘Do you truly prefer town?’ she asked, trying to sound nonchalant. ‘It must be so nice to get away from the noise and smoke every now and then. To shoot…and such like.’

He looked at her impassively. ‘I am not fond of shooting.’

‘Well…’ She resisted the urge to ask him if he was always so difficult. ‘To relax, then. The countryside has a wonderful tonic effect, I find.’

Now he just looked bored. ‘To be honest, Miss Pevensey,’ he drawled, ‘I am in half a mind to sell the place.’

There was a clatter from the doorway behind them as the butler all but dropped the tray of sandwiches he was bearing.

Major Westhaven looked up, brows drawing together in irritation. ‘For God’s sake, man, have a care!’ He turned back to Lily, stony faced.

She, further taken aback by the aggressive way he spoke to his servant, tried all the harder to smooth things over. ‘I had understood you spent almost all your time here this last year, my lord.’

He nodded tersely. ‘Precisely why I am starting to tire of the place. Perhaps it is time for change.’

The butler, unloading his tray, was shaking his head. ‘If your father could hear you now,’ he muttered.

Lily, astonished, turned to look at him. Though still upright and slim of build, the man must be approaching seventy. In the grand houses she had visited before, the servants would never have dreamed of interrupting in such a fashion.

‘When I am in need of a lesson on family history, John, I will ask for one.’ The Major’s voice was low-pitched and even, but Lily sensed a clear undercurrent of carefully suppressed anger.

‘I very much doubt that.’

She saw the Major’s eyes flick from his butler to her, and saw his jaw clench further. ‘Excuse me a moment,’ he said tightly and rose, ushering the old man before him into the long gallery. The double doors did not close fully behind them, however, and from where they sat it was possible to both see and hear all that was said. Lily, eyes averted, tried nevertheless to appear engrossed in stirring her tea as the Major, upright with indignation, confronted his servant.

‘How dare you show me so little respect in front of my guests?’

The butler was not quelled. ‘You know how he worked to save Oakridge when he inherited it—and how he guarded it for you in turn. If he could hear you talk so, as if the place means nothing to you—’

‘That’s enough!’ Major Westhaven’s voice rose. ‘You forget who is master here!’

‘I could not forget if I tried, I assure you.’

There was a moment of silence, in which neither man moved.

Then, his voice a little lower but just as dangerous, the Major said, ‘Oakridge is mine now, however much you may wish otherwise. And I will speak as I please in my own home.’ Lily exchanged a look of alarm with Kitty, all pretence of deafness forgotten. Through the two inches or so between the doors she could see him, glaring down from his superior height upon the other man, who faced him bravely. ‘Have a care, old man, or you shall find yourself swiftly unemployed.’

This did cause John to falter, his grey brows drawing together. ‘How can you say such a thing? This was my home long before you were born!’

‘No.’ His master’s gaze was icy cold. ‘It was my father’s home. And now it is mine. Take care to remember that.’

He drew himself up as the old man shuffled away, then returned to the two women. Kitty hastily busied herself with refilling her cup, a look of deaf ignorance on her face, but Lily could not look away. Something in the way they had spoken to each other told of a bond deeper than the usual master-servant relationship; yet this only made the way the Major had spoken to the old man more appalling. Lily felt hurt and insulted on his behalf: she could not imagine serving a family for decades and being spoken to so! She wondered only that John did not leave.

The Major, seeing the accusation in her gaze, returned it defiantly none the less.

‘I apologise for my staff,’ was all he said, and the arrogant nonchalance in his tone almost undid her. She pressed her lips tightly together for fear of speaking her thoughts aloud and concentrated on not flinging her teacup at him.

‘Now. Where were we?’ he asked.

But Lily could pretend no longer. ‘If you do not mind, I think I would like to go home now,’ she said at last, stiffly.

‘We have not yet discussed your living arrangements, Miss Pevensey.’

‘We can do so at a later date.’

‘You have not finished your tea, and you have eaten nothing.’ His tone was dangerous.

She tipped up her chin, teeth clenched. ‘I cannot speak for Lady Stanton, my lord—but I have quite lost my appetite.’

He did not even glance at Kitty, but stared straight back at her, eyes stormy in a face that could have been carved from stone. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and for a moment she thought he was going to argue.

‘Very well,’ he said eventually. ‘If you will wait here, I will arrange for my carriage to be readied.’

‘My thanks.’ She watched as he strode off, then, turning to Kitty, hissed, ‘Did I not tell you? He has not the manners of a…well—he has no manners at all!’

Kitty looked thoroughly taken aback. ‘It was most odd,’ she conceded, eyes wide. ‘Yet perhaps he has reason to—’

‘Reason? What reason could he have to behave so?’ Rising to her feet, Lily went to the double doors and peeped back into the long gallery.

There, as she suspected he would be, stood the old man, a slight, miserable figure before the huge painting of the previous Lord and Lady Westhaven.

‘Wait here a moment,’ she said softly. Then, without waiting for an answer from her friend, she slipped through the doors and went forward, feet light on the floorboards, down the long room towards him.

‘John?’

He turned slightly as she drew near. Her heart twisted as she saw there were tears in his eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, because she did not know what else to say.

The old man was shaking his head, eyes sad. ‘If Kit Westhaven could see his son now…He cherished this place…would have given all to preserve his family home.’

‘You served him?’

He nodded. ‘Almost my whole life.’

‘How long has he been gone?’

John shook his head. ‘Not quite a year,’ he said desolately, shaking his head again. ‘I never thought I would survive to see my master dead and his beloved Oakridge home to a man who no longer cares for anything. It is not right.’

‘He should not have spoken to you so,’ she said. ‘I will ensure he will not throw you out, you have my word on that.’

John’s rheumy eyes seemed to alight properly on her face for the first time. ‘He’ll not throw me out.’ He looked past her to where Major Westhaven had stood. ‘He is a good man, under it all. But he has changed, my lady. He was not always as you saw him, not before he went to fight in the war.’

‘Many men go to war,’ she said firmly. ‘They do not all come back monsters.’ With a painful twist in her heart she added, ‘Some do not come back at all.’

His eyes softened, as if in recollection. ‘Of course—you are Robert Pevensey’s sister. Forgive my thoughtlessness.’

She was surprised. ‘Major Westhaven has spoken of my brother?’

‘He used to, often. These days he speaks little.’

‘I wonder that you can put up with such behaviour,’ she said with feeling.

He looked at her sharply. ‘Of the ones who did return, Miss Pevensey, few lost what he did.’

She frowned at the sorrow in his eyes. ‘What do you—?’

‘Miss Pevensey.’

She turned. Major Westhaven was standing practically to attention at the end of the gallery. ‘I have ordered the carriage.’

She nodded curtly. ‘I am coming.’ Turning to John, she smiled. ‘It was lovely to meet you.’

His eyes filled with tears once more. ‘You are kind, my lady.’

‘Goodbye, John.’

‘You’ll not be back?’

‘I do not think so.’

He nodded. ‘I see.’

On an impulse, she put out a hand and squeezed his arm. Then, because he looked as if he was about to cry at any moment, she walked away, to where Major Westhaven stood waiting for her with a look of abject scorn in his blue-grey eyes.

‘If you are quite finished, Miss Pevensey…’

Something in his tone tugged at her, so that the irritation she had suppressed flared into anger as he shut the doors to the long gallery behind her with a firmness that suggested the subject was also closed. ‘No. I have not finished, Major. Not quite.’

She looked past him to where her friend stood, looking acutely uncomfortable at the tension crackling between them. ‘If you wish to go and ready yourself to leave, Lady Stanton, I will be with you in a moment.’

Kitty hesitated. ‘I’m not sure I ought to—’

‘I’ll only be a moment.’

Kitty shot her a telling look, but Lily, too angry to care, gestured pleadingly with her eyes to the door.

‘Very well.’ With a frown that told her friend she was not happy, Kitty left them alone, looking back uncertainly as she closed the door behind herself.

Lily, fuming, turned to face the Major, who was watching her with sardonic amusement.

‘You go to great lengths to get me alone, Miss Pevensey.’

Lily’s lip curled at his arrogance. ‘I assure you, Major, this will be the first and last time.’ She faced him, hands on hips, unladylike but furious. ‘How could you speak so to an old man?’

‘I am sure he will recover,’ he said mildly.

‘But you were so cruel! He has served you your whole life and this is how you repay him?’

He regarded her coolly. ‘Do not let John fool you, my lady. He is tougher than most men a third of his age.’

‘He would have to be,’ she retorted, ‘if he is treated so!’

His jaw clenched. ‘I do not believe it is any of your business how I treat my servants.’

‘Indeed not.’ She was making no impression—she had been a fool to think she could get through to him when, evidently, remorse was completely alien to his character. ‘Indeed, I think any business we may have had has been concluded, my lord. I will never move in under any roof of yours, regardless of whether I share it with you or not. Thank you for your sparkling hospitality. Good day!’

She spun on her heel and stalked towards the front hall, where Kitty waited.

‘Lily?’ Her friend came forward, concerned to see the look of fury on her face. ‘What happened? I should not have left you!’

‘Nothing happened. We are leaving.’ Lily located her bonnet, waiting for her on the table, and jammed it on to her head, fastening the ribbons haphazardly. Then, throwing open the door, she started down the stone steps. ‘Come, Kitty.’

‘But, Lily—wait, we cannot—’

Ignoring Kitty’s protests, Lily strode out of the door. She was halfway down the steps when she realised that not only was there no carriage waiting for them, but that it was raining.

‘Miss Pevensey.’ Now Major Westhaven was in the doorway above her. ‘At least have the sense to wait inside.’

‘Sense?’ She turned her face, wet with raindrops, up to him. ‘If I had sense, I would have known that to come here at all was a fool’s errand, sir!’

With that, she headed off down the driveway, thinking only to put as much distance as she could between them.

Behind her she heard Kitty crying her name, and vaguely registered the Major say something to the younger woman, but she was too angry to wonder what passed between them. ‘You may tell your driver to catch me up!’ she cried over her shoulder.

Her words, however, were drowned out by a huge clap of thunder. Out of nowhere, the steady rain became heavier, intensifying in moments until it was veritably pouring.

Lily, temper undampened, kept walking.

It was only when someone grabbed her arm that she realised Major Westhaven was behind her. Looking up at the streaming sky, he muttered something that she suspected may have been a profanity, and promptly dragged her off to one side. She fought him with a shriek, but she was no match for his iron grip and superior strength.

‘You are frightening your friend,’ he ground at her, jaw clenched.

‘I am sure she will survive—let me go!’

Despite her protests, however, Lily found herself pulled relentlessly across already sodden grass until she was under the protective cover of a large oak tree, its canopy of foliage stretching out above them for several feet.

‘How dare you?’ Jerking her arm free, Lily braced herself against the thick bark of its trunk and tried to ignore him and catch her breath simultaneously.

She pulled off her dripping bonnet, turning her back upon the man at her side as she surveyed the sheets of rain that now surrounded them, dripping through the leaves above. It did not look as if it would ever stop, and the promised carriage was still nowhere to be seen. In the distance the house stood, impassive, as if it had witnessed such scenes before. Of Kitty there was no sign. Lily felt a stab of guilt.

‘Where is Lady Stanton?’ she snapped.

‘Inside,’ he said, sounding thoroughly out of sorts. ‘And a damned sight drier than we are, I’ll warrant.’

She rounded on him. ‘Kindly moderate your language! You are not on the battlefield now, Major.’

‘Evidently,’ he muttered. ‘My men never surrendered themselves to such histrionics.’

Lily glared at him, but shut her mouth tight, desperately trying not to give him the satisfaction of a response, as he seemed so determined to bait her. She crossed her arms and attempted to pretend once more that he was not there.

It was not as easy as she had hoped—plus she was beginning to be cold, now that the energy of scrambling for shelter was no longer required.

Beside her, Major Westhaven shrugged off his coat.

‘Here.’ He draped it roughly about her shoulders where, though damp, it did afford some warmth. Anger overcoming an absurd flash of gratefulness, Lily drew it wordlessly about her, trying not to let him see that she was shivering.

A stillness descended, broken only by the relentless patter of rain through leaves above them. Lily took a deep breath and attempted to regain some semblance of dignity.

‘You need not wait with me,’ she said at length, when the silence was becoming oppressive. ‘Just tell your driver to stop here and pick me up.’

He made no reply, as she was beginning to see was usual for him. Exasperated, she turned to him. ‘If you would be good enough to perhaps go and see what is keeping them? Lady Stanton will be worried, and I do not wish to stand here all afternoon and be soaked to the skin!’

His face grew distant as he looked down at her. ‘I had not thought you the sort of woman to be overly upset by a little rain, Miss Pevensey. Especially as you yourself brought us here.’

‘It is not the rain that has upset me!’ she retorted. The slight stung her, as she remembered afresh his words at Lady Langley’s ball and the original reason she was so annoyed with him. ‘But I find it odd indeed that you had formed any opinion of me as any sort of woman at all, in light of the fact that you barely know me! Although, no doubt, you think otherwise.’

His eyes narrowed. He was looking increasingly out of sorts. ‘Can it be that I have done something else to upset you, Miss Pevensey, other than discipline my own servant?’

She shook her head, amazed at his gall. ‘Odd as it may seem to you, my lord, I do not take kindly to having my character assassinated in public.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Your character?’

She nodded. ‘I am perfectly able to hold a conversation. That I do not choose to do so with you says more about your character than mine. And just because a lady is cheerful it does not mean she is vacant, my lord.’

Realisation dawned in his face. ‘Lady Langley’s ball.’

‘Yes!’ she spat. ‘Lady Langley’s ball, where you seemed so eager to hold forth on the subject of my personality—or lack of one, if I remember rightly!’

‘You were not supposed to hear that,’ he told her, almost accusingly. ‘And, if you remember, most of it was not said by me.’

‘You began it!’ she snapped.

‘They do say, my lady, that eavesdroppers never hear well of themselves.’

‘Eavesdroppers?’ Lily gasped. ‘How—?’

‘Is that not exactly what you were?’

Unable to answer this without incriminating herself, Lily merely glared at him. ‘I am only surprised, sir, that, after such an appraisal of me, you did not retract your magnanimous offer to take me into your home. Or were you hoping to educate me once I was under your roof—make me a little less empty-headed?’

He was silent for a moment, watching the way she stood, eyebrows raised, waiting for his answer. None was forthcoming.

Infuriated, Lily gritted her teeth. ‘I am not usually contrary by nature, sir. There are many who would find me the perfect companion, I assure you, and none of them would presume to speak of me—or to me, for that matter—as you have done. It is no failing in myself that I find you so extremely…’

‘Provoking?’ he suggested helpfully.

She resisted the urge to stamp her foot for fear it would send her up to her ankles in mud. ‘Now you are laughing at me?’

‘I assure you, I would not dare.’

‘Then explain to me why you make such judgements about women you do not know!’

He raised a sardonic eyebrow. ‘Perhaps you should explain why you are so eager to hear my explanation.’

‘Because…Ugh!’ Lily threw up her hands. ‘We are going around in circles. I bid you good day, sir. I will walk from here.’

With that she set off, out from under the tree and across the soaked grass, furious, humiliated and all the while wondering at the strength of the emotions that coursed through her. It had been true, what she told him of her character. She was mild, courteous Liliana Pevensey: unassuming, quiet living and, of late, tastefully coquettish in polite company. How had she turned into the type of woman who shrieked at men in the rain?

It was all his fault—and she would have no more of it! He was an uncivilised boor and about as far from a gentleman as she had ever encountered.

The ground squelched under her shoes, and the rain still had not let up, but Lily gave little thought to these trivial matters—she wanted simply to be as far from Major Westhaven as possible.

Unfortunately, he seemed to be following her.

‘Miss Pevensey.’

Those long legs apparently allowed him to cover ground much faster than she—he was gaining on her.

She swung around, narrowly avoiding losing her balance.

‘Leave me be, sir!’

‘Where are you going?’

‘To the gates to flag down a cab, of course!’

‘I have a perfectly good carriage.’ He sounded as if he was trying to pacify a child, and it infuriated her. ‘And, even if I was willing to explain your unchaperoned departure to your friend, you are unlikely to find a cab out here, I assure you.’

She scowled as he drew level with her. ‘I cannot wait another moment if you are to wait with me!’

He took her arm again as she turned away.

‘Stay.’

It was said with such calmness that she actually paused. She looked at him, his hair plastered to his head with rain—and all of a sudden she felt more wretched than she had in a long time.

‘I just want to go home,’ she said, shoulders drooping as the anger drained from her body. ‘You are quite right, my lord. I have not the character for running about the country with mud in my shoes. If that is what gentlemen wish for these days, then I shall happily remain an old maid.’

A frown crossed his face as she met his eyes but fleetingly.

‘I have truly upset you, haven’t I?’

Something in his expression stung her straight back into fury. She wiped rain from her face and scowled at him. ‘Upset me? Why ever would you think that I have enough substance of character to feel upset?’

‘Perhaps if you would—’

‘You must forgive me,’ she interrupted, ‘but it is not easy to learn that your temperament is out of fashion, sir. Even the most vacuous—the most vacant—of us have feelings!’

She stalked past him, tears stinging her eyes. Must she endure such comments from such a man? Not, she reminded herself firmly, that she cared a fig what this particular man thought.

‘Plenty of your peers find my conversation perfectly satisfactory,’ she snapped over her shoulder. ‘Perhaps you should consider that it is yourself who is wanting, not those of us who are merely trying to make things pleasant for others, so we may all—’

‘It seems I was wrong,’ he said from behind her.

Lily stopped. ‘What?’ She turned to face him as he reached her side once more, mud sucking at his boots.

‘It seems you can carry on a conversation. With or without a partner, it would seem.’

She frowned, disarmed and ruffled. ‘Now suddenly you wish to agree with me?’

‘It seems so.’ Was that amusement in his eyes? Was he laughing at her, again?

‘Well—how terribly convenient!’ She glared up at him, eyes blazing. ‘What about my mindless chatter, sir? Does it not grate on your nerves how I can speak of nothing but dancing, and cannot comment on foreign policy in the Colonies, the role of the British Army or the state of the economy? Do you not wish there was a fishwife somewhere to divert your attention with her witty banter? Or perhaps you find my banality soothing, as you yourself are so very—’

Her tirade turned abruptly into a startled squeak as, taking her chin none too gently in an iron grip, he stepped forward and covered her mouth with his.

His kiss was almost fierce in its intensity, his lips warm and firm against hers. It was a sensation quite unlike anything she had ever experienced.

Lily, jolted out of her temper by the oddest feeling of awakening, felt with wonder the way her mouth moulded to his, the way her body was filled with an unexplained and tingly longing that started in her belly and spread rapidly outwards. Her lips were tender beneath his, and she felt her eyes closing, unspoken reservations swept away on a tide of arousal.

As if feeling her response, he pulled her closer, his kiss hard, insistent, leaving her in no doubt as to the passion that lay just beneath the surface of his cool manner. She found herself pressed against him, surrendering to the depths of his mouth, allowing his long fingers to brush the rain from her face.

She clung to his lapels, his arm around her back the only thing keeping her upright. Her mouth actively sought his now—and she felt no shame, only an odd sense of completeness, as though their quarrel had in some way been leading to this point all along.

At last he broke away, still holding her to him, eyes smoky with suppressed desire. He was very close, rain glistening on his skin, and Lily, too shocked to speak, could not take her eyes from his mouth. Her knees were threatening to deposit her on the ground at any moment, yet all her brain could focus on was the woody scent of cigar smoke that clung to him.

Then he released her and, abruptly, she came to her senses.

She wished to scream at him, but she could not quite catch her breath. So instead she drew back her arm to slap him as hard as he could.

He stopped it inches from his face, pulled her hard up against him and looked down into her face.

‘Try that a second time,’ he said silkily, ‘and I will show you what it is like to be really kissed.’

‘Let me go,’ she ground out between her teeth, almost sobbing with frustration, humiliation and desire. For she knew, pressed against him, that if he was to keep his promise and kiss her again her body would respond just as ardently. She was disgusted with herself.

He let her go.

Dropping her eyes, she stepped away from him, trembling now not only from the chill rain that still poured upon them, her anger dissolved. Her teeth were beginning to chatter as, utterly wretched, she wrapped her arms about herself for warmth.

‘Is that what I can expect if I am to live under your roof, sir?’

A frown creased Major Westhaven’s smooth features. ‘No,’ he said gruffly. ‘No, of course not.’

‘Then why—?’

‘Come.’ He took her arm firmly. ‘The carriage is here.’

Too overcome to protest much, and puzzled by the expression he now wore—a kind of fierce, guilty regret—Lily allowed herself to be led back to the house, where the carriage had just drawn up.

‘Lily!’ It was Kitty, hurrying down the steps, an expression of bewildered terror on her pale face. ‘Where were you?’

Lily took one look at her and, absurdly, tears came to her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Kitty. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I am fine, truly.’

Speechless, Kitty could only shake her head in confusion.

‘If you will allow me, Lady Stanton.’ Major Westhaven held out a hand, for all the world as though he was not dripping wet, and helped her solemnly into the carriage.

Then, turning to Lily, he took her cold fingers in his, even as she attempted to evade him. Heat flooded her at his touch, and—just for a moment—she was lost once more in his gaze, oddly fascinated by the way the raindrops clung to his eyelashes. He supported her as she climbed into the welcome dryness of the carriage, her skirts clinging to her. Then, coming to herself, she snatched her hand away.

‘I will call tomorrow to discuss arrangements,’ he said.

Brushing aside the hair plastered to her face, Lily made a valiant attempt to pull herself together. ‘Do not trouble yourself, sir. I will not be moving under your roof.’

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